


Take It All In

by ElvenSemi



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Because Hancock is a terrible influence, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, F/M, Look this is just the Sole getting stoned for the first time, Recreational Drug Use, idk what you want from me, tomfoolery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-03 21:57:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6628207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElvenSemi/pseuds/ElvenSemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The future was really fucked up. </p><p>That was the only real conclusion Emelia had come to in the month since she'd stumbled out of cryogenic stasis and into a world that really couldn't give less of a fuck.</p><p>---</p><p>The Sole Survivor is still a bit awkward and uncertain around her newest traveling companion, John Hancock. And as we all know, all the best decisions are made when trying to impress someone, <em>especially</em>  when drugs are involved! SFW, rated M for swearing and drug use.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take It All In

**Author's Note:**

> The first time my Sole did jet in the middle of combat, Hancock said "that's right, take it aaallll in" in just the most suggestive friggin way possible. Like most good things in life, this is based off of a single line of dialogue.

The future was really fucked up. 

That was the only real conclusion Emelia had come to in the month since she'd stumbled out of cryogenic stasis and into a world that really couldn't give less of a fuck. That single month felt longer than her entire life before it. Sometimes she wondered if she hadn't just dreamed her “Pre-War” life.. It didn't seem real, not anymore. A Wasteland full of monsters and a desperate need to pick up new skills, _fast_ , had shoved everything else from her mind. 

She was still a bit skittish around her new traveling partner, the “mayor” of Goodneighbor, John Hancock. And it had been her damn idea for him to come along, too! But while she'd admired his charisma from a distance, up close and personal she was... 

She was a socially awkward fucktard, that's what she was. 

She'd scouted out a good place for them to stop for the night, a half-collapsed house with a second story that was still mostly there. She preferred to be off the ground or behind closed doors whenever possible; this house offered both... though not much in the way off a roof. But that allowed them to light a fire, so it worked out. 

“Good spot,” Hancock commented, leaning back against a mostly ruined couch. Bless him, he'd chatted away the last three days since they left Goodneighbor. It seemed he wasn't the kind to be offended or concerned by how silent she'd been. She wasn't even normally this quiet; it was just that whenever she tried to talk, it felt like her mouth was made out of sandpaper. She wasn't this awkward around Nick, damnit, and he was a literal robot! 

“Totally worth the Mirelurks we had to kill to get in here,” Hancock added. Emelia managed to nod in agreement. She had been pretty freaked out by the giant, terrifying crab monsters when she first encountered them... but that fear had faded when she'd found a missile launcher. She found that a lot of fears were easier to face with a missile launcher, actually. 

Hancock began to rummage through his bag for something, and Emelia, shamelessly, took advantage of his distraction to stare. She'd been wanting to stare at ghouls since she'd first met one that wasn’t trying to chew her face off. But she hadn't, fully aware that it was really fucking rude. When Hancock wasn't looking, however... 

The bone structure beneath his heavily scarred skin hinted to what he may have looked like before, but Emelia couldn't imagine it. He was still wearing that hat of his, she noted, despite the fact Emelia's own cap was lying off to the side. The last two nights, he'd slept with it resting on top of his face. A cute habit, although--for better or worse--one that kept her from staring at him when he slept. 

He finally found what he was looking for, and Emelia immediately turned her eyes back towards the fire. She recognized the little red and white inhaler out of the corner of her eye. Jet. No surprise there; Hancock had gotten high on something every night so far, and jet seemed to be his drug of choice. Emelia didn't mind. Unlike some addicts she'd known pre-war, Hancock could handle himself and didn't turn into a complete prick when high. And he wasn't endangering them, either. Emelia could swear he fought BETTER when high. 

He put the jet to his lips--well, mouth anyway, he didn't have much in the way of lips--and Emelia heard the little release of gas as he pressed down on the top and inhaled. He held his breath in after pulling the inhaler away, the way one might when smoking pot--something Emelia had witnessed several times in college but never done herself. Then he exhaled, and on his breath was the silvery-grey smoke, or steam, or fumes, or whatever, of the jet. The firelight danced off of it, making the smoke glow and flicker like a cloud during a nuclear storm. It was only when the haze began to dissipate and she found Hancock's eyes on hers that she realized she'd been staring. Or, more specifically, that she’d been caught staring. 

She was instantly mortified, her eyes snapping back to the fire as heat rose in her cheeks. Hancock, however, seemed to misinterpret her gaze. 

“D’you wanna hit?” he asked, holding up the jet. 

Emelia blinked in surprise. No one else she talked to did much in the way of drugs--just Mama Murphy--so no one had ever offered her some before. “Oh, no, I couldn't,” she said, holding up her hands. “I've never... done jet before.” Pfft. _Look at me, trying to play it cool,_ she thought derisively. Forget jet, she'd never done DRUGS before. The highest she'd ever been was on pain medication after surgery. 

“Hey, there's a first time for everything, doll,” Hancock said with a cheeky grin, and she felt her blush spread further across her face. 

“I... I dunno,” she muttered, then immediately chastised herself for sounding like a complete loser. She sounded like a Catholic schoolgirl half-heartedly defending her virginity. 

“Hey, you don't gotta try anything you don't want to,” Hancock informed her. “But if you're gonna try it, might as well be with an expert, right?” 

Emelia snorted; she couldn't help herself. “A drug expert. A veritable aficionado of highs,” she said with a laugh--the most natural one she'd managed in the three days she'd been traveling with Hancock. 

“I could teach a class,” he said with a lofty air of badly forced modesty. 

“Should I be calling you Professor Hancock?” she teased. 

“I've been called worse things by a pretty lady,” he replied, and just like that, she was back to blushing and awkwardly staring at the fire. She really shouldn’t be so flustered. It's not like it was totally senseless flattery. She'd been simply average before the bombs fell, but by Wasteland standards, she was a friggin’ supermodel. That would change, she suspected; even one month’s hard living had been rough on her. But she still had all her teeth and, despite some radiation exposure, still had a full head of bright, coppery-red hair. Despite some new scars and soft skin fighting to get used to harsh sun exposure, she was a real Commonwealth catch. She'd been hit on plenty. But this time she got flustered, for no damn reason. Again. 

Fortunately, Hancock was apparently awkward proof, and took her sudden silence in stride, leaning back and staring up at the night sky. Emelia found herself watching him (staring at him) again as he took another slow hit off the jet, making sure the canister was empty. 

“What's it feel like?” she heard herself asking after he'd exhaled the smoke upwards into the sky. She immediately began berating herself; what a dumb question. But Hancock didn’t seem to mind. 

“Jet’s a hell of a rush,” he explained. “Everything seems to go slower, and it's all... sharper, brighter, more in focus. Only lasts about fifteen minutes for most people--more like ten for me--but it feels a hell of a lot longer.” 

A few minutes passed in relative silence as Hancock stared up at the sky and Emelia tried--largely unsuccessfully--not to stare at him. She tried to look up at the sky instead. It was clear out; the stars were gorgeous. Emelia liked to think that meant the atmosphere was in good shape despite all the nuclear detonations... and without all the lights from cities, the night sky seemed to go on forever. A little silver lining to the never-ending nightmare that was the remnants of human society. 

Hancock seemed pretty content to stare at the stars as well. Was he appreciating the beauty? Or just high? It could be both, she supposed. How long did it feel like for him? 

He reached into a pocket--Emelia watched through her peripheral vision, not wanting to be caught staring again--and pulled out a cigarette and lighter. Another vice Emelia had never picked up. In fact, she'd strong-armed Nate into quitting before Shaun had been born. It had turned out to be a boon; EVERYONE in the Wasteland smoked. Cigarettes were as good as cash or caps. 

Emelia idly watched the smoke he exhaled as firelight danced through it. The smell reminded her of Nate. For their six month anniversary, back when they were dating, he'd rented a cabin at a camp site. If she closed her eyes, she could almost be there... 

The screech of a feral ghoul snapped her out of that reverie. Hancock was up and ready, shotgun in hand, before she'd done more than get her hand on her rifle. Bless his jet-fueled reflexes. He peered over a half-ruined section of wall; after Emelia got her rifle, she crouched down next to him. If anything needed to be shot, she could do it from there... but she'd rather avoid it, since the loud sound would alert anything in the area to their presence. The noise of a gunshot traveled a lot further than the meager light from their fire, especially with walls and part of a roof covering it from sight. 

“D’you see anything?” she whispered, despite the fact that a hushed voice was probably not necessary. 

“Looks like a pack of dogs found a feral... or vice versa.” Hancock gestured for her to stand, and she rose to peer over the wall with him. It was a bit of a tight fit. The smell of cigarette smoke was stronger, tangy. Different. _He must smoke a different brand then Nate._ She immediately berated herself for the foolish thought. Did they even have brands in the apocalypse? 

She stared down into the street. Three dogs versus a single ghoul. It charged one, which yelped and scampered backwards. 

“You wanna take bets?” Hancock joked. “Smart money's on the ghoul.” 

“I'll take that action,” Emelia replied. “Those dogs have it outnumbered.” 

“Don't underestimate a ghoul,” Hancock advised, and Emelia nudged him in the ribs with an elbow. 

“You're just saying that ‘cause you're related.” She was testing the waters a bit, trying to see what she could get away with. 

“Oh har har.” 

“I'll bet that Jet I found today that the dogs get it.” 

“You got yourself a deal. On the unlikely chance that happens you can have...” 

“You cooking breakfast tomorrow. I wanna sleep in.” 

Hancock laughed, and Emelia was momentarily distracted by the sound. Low and rough, just a little dark. Nate’s laugh had been like a windchime; this was very different. 

Why was she comparing him to Nate? Must be because of the cigarette smoke. 

“Deal,” Hancock agreed, and the two of them turned their focus to the fight on the street below. As the ghoul lunged forward for one of the dogs, another leapt forward and latched onto its leg, growling and tearing with sharp snaps of its head. That turned out to be a mistake, however, as the ghoul turned its focus to the attacking dog. Before the other two could act, it latched its own teeth into the dog. Emelia winced at the splatter of blood she could see even from the second floor. 

“One down,” Hancock chimed, and Emelia pouted. 

“C’mon, you dumb mutts! Go for the throat while it's crouched down! Dogmeat would have had it by now!” 

“Dogmeat is a lot smarter than those mongrels,” Hancock pointed out. 

“No arguing there,” Emelia humbled as the injured ghoul managed to launch itself onto another of the dogs. The panicked yelping turned to pained yelping quickly. “Ah, fuck.” 

“You wanna finish watching this, or are you ready to hand over that jet?” Hancock asked with a grin. 

“There's still a chance--oh, fuck me, it's running away,” Emelia grumbled. The ghoul limped after the mongrel for not even half a block before returning to dine on the dog corpses. “I'm shooting it,” she said darkly. “I am NOT listening to it tear those corpses apart all night.” 

“If there's anything else out there, they'll hear the shot,” Hancock warned. 

“Fuck that,” Emelia said, shoving her rifle into his arms and reaching for her holster. “It's holding still. I can make this shot with Mr. Sandman.” 

She was proud of the gun--she'd modded it herself from a 10mm she'd picked up off a raider. He'd already made some changes from the standard, but she'd been the one to add the silencer and scope. She couldn't figure out how to muffle the much larger sniper rifle, not yet, but Mr. Sandman was her pride and joy. 

“You sure?” Hancock asked. “That’s a hell of a--” 

The ghoul’s head burst like a melon. Emelia wrinkled her nose. Disgusting. She hated the way the more irradiated ghouls splattered apart like they were filled with gas. 

Hancock's low whistle distracted her from the gruesomeness below. “Damn. Knew I picked you for a reason.” 

“You’re traveling with me because of my ability to pop a ghoul’s skull from a hundred yards? I'm flattered,” she said dryly, flipping the safety back on and returning her gun to its holster. And to think, Nate had tried to get her to give up shooting as a hobby. Wasn't ladylike. He'd been right about selling her guns, though. They weren't safe, what with a baby in the house... 

“Don't think this means you don't have to give me that jet, though.” 

Emelia tore her eyes off the corpses and turned to Hancock to say something... which quickly flitted from her mind. They were standing... very close. She'd forgotten, that fast. 

She quickly took a few steps away, towards her pack, and began rummaging through for the jet.

“Fair’s fair,” she said as she handed it over to him. “But I really wanted breakfast.” 

“Make smarter bets next time,” he said with a grin, gloved fingers closing around the jet, brushing her palm. He didn't sit down or even step back. He put the jet to his lips right in front of her and took a quick hit. He held the breath in, and when he exhaled, it was slowly, head tilted back slightly. Not blowing the fumes into her face but letting the smoke slowly curl upwards out of his mouth, twisting and curling towards the sky. 

Emelia swallowed. 

“Hey, uh... can I try?” 

What. 

What the fuck had she just said? 

That was ridiculous, she'd never done drugs before, and why would he give her jet he literally just won from her? Stupid! She opened her mouth to apologize. 

“Sure.” 

Oh. 

Oh, shit, now she actually needed to do it.

He handed her the jet and she stared at it blankly for a moment. 

“I, um... I don't actually know _how_...” she began sheepishly, expecting to be laughed at. Instead, Hancock’s hand folded against hers, wrapping her hand around the inhaler. 

“Put it in your mouth,” he instructed, and Emelia blushed crimson. 

“I-I know that much!” she snapped, pulling her hand up and sticking the tube between her lips, fingers clumsily trying to recreate the way she’d seen other people grip inhalers. It felt awkward. 

“No, like this,” he said, hand finding hers again and shifting her fingers into place. Her blush certainly wasn’t dissipating. “Start inhaling before you push down, then just keep breathing in.You're gonna want to cough. Fight that feeling for as long as you can.”

She nodded, then started sucking in air. his fingers followed hers as she pushed down on the jet. Sharp, acidic droplets filled her mouth, then her lungs. Immediately, she wanted to cough it out, her lungs screaming like she was inhaling poison. Maybe she was. 

“Thaaat’s it,” Hancock breathed as she fought the burning sensation filling her throat and lungs. “Take it all in.” 

She struggled not to choke, instead focusing on the fire glinting in his black eyes. He looked... satisfied wasn't quite the word. Reverent? Not it either. But it looked to her like he enjoyed the sight of her first hit of jet. 

She pulled the inhaler away from her mouth. The air escaped her lungs not so much as a cough as a hoarse wheeze combined with a gag. The fumes, acidic and sharply painful, billowed out of her mouth in an anticlimactic poof. 

“Good job,” she heard Hancock say, but she could barely register it. The sensation was hitting her now. It started like a tingling in her brain, and then started to come in waves, each stronger than the last. Her heart began to pound, so loudly she could hear it in her ears, so strongly that her whole body thudded with it. She stared blindly at Hancock’s face as her mind began to spin. She reached out one hand--slowly, it felt like she started moving it an hour ago--and touched the side of his face, reveling in the strange, rough sensation of his skin. She'd been wanting to feel it for three days. Longer. Since she'd seen him stab that man in Goodneighbor, since she'd heard him give that speech. 

“Wow,” she breathed. Did her voice always sound that way? “You're like beef jerky.” 

Hancock snorted, his hand grabbing hers and pulling it away from his face. “Okay, let's get you sitting down by the fire, huh?” 

She stared around, fascinated, as he moved around to her side. One of his hands still gripped hers, the other one reached around her shoulders and guided her forward. She took a few hesitant steps forward. Walking felt weird; she could feel each individual muscle in her legs twist and move. She felt as though she might fall through the ground. The world swam violently as he bent her down onto the ground. She clung, feeling like she was about to spin right off the roof and into space. 

“It's alright, I've got you,” Hancock's gravely voice came, through time. 

“Mmmm,” she said, trying to will the world to stop being so dramatic and _loud_ , trying to make sense of all she was seeing and hearing. She focused inward, trying to get a firmer grasp on herself. She could do this. It was just chemicals, for God's sake. She took a few minutes to just try to get her head straight. When she finally felt she had some semblance of control, when the world stopped spinning so violently... like coming up for air, and she could tell it would be just as brief... She turned to Hancock. 

“How long has it been?” she gasped out. She had to be at least halfway through. He'd said it fucked with your sensation of time, but it felt like it had been hours or days since this started. 

“About 30 seconds, doll,” came the response. She let out something like a whimper. 

“You’re really deep in it,” he said with a laugh. It vibrated against her skin; she wanted to roll in it like tall grass in the summer or a freshly made bed. “I guess this is what happens when you haven't done drugs for 200 years.” 

“Oh,” she said hazily, staring blankly forward, watching the tendrils of the fire twist and flail in slow motion. Sharp. Every detail, outlined, perfect. “I've never done drugs.” 

“You... what?” 

Ah, she was talking too fast, probably. It felt really slow to her, but that was just the drugs, right? “I’ve... never... done... drugs,” she annunciated slowly. 

“Ever? Not even some weak, pre-War drugs or something?” 

“Not unless you count morphine, that one time!” she said cheerfully, leaning up against his shoulder. He smelled kinda musty. “You ever wash these things?” she asked, picking at the corner of his red jacket. “I bet they’re hand wash only.” 

“And I just pumped you full of jet,” Hancock said, rubbing a hand against his face. “Brilliant, John, just brilliant.” 

“You didn’t pump me full of anything, _buddy,_ ” Emelia said firmly. As firmly as she could, under the circumstances. “I took it myself.” She tried to look right in his face, but she quickly got distracted. Hancock caught her hand as a finger came up towards his mouth, ostensibly to feel what was left of his lips. 

“I woulda started you on something gentler if I knew,” he chided softly. 

Emelia snorted. “Gentle died two hundred years ago.” Hancock caught her other hand as it came up towards his neck. 

“I can see you’re going to need something to do with your hands.” 

Emelia scowled. “I’m not a toddler, Hancock.” 

“No, you’re a grown woman who needs something to do with her hands,” he replied, pushing her hands back into her lap. “Hold still for a minute.” 

“I feel like you’re being condescending,” she complained as he stood up in front of her. It was a nice thing to watch in slow motion. 

“I’m not being condescending until I hand you that damn baby rattle you picked up for no reason earlier today.” His legs moved out of view, but instead of following them, Emelia’s eyes drifted up towards the sky. It really did go on _forever._ She stared up at it. Humans had once dreamed of walking other planets. They’d been starting to trip into that frontier, sending drones to Mars and men into orbit. Nate had talked about it a bit... he’d had a romantic sort of idea about space. But he’d decided against taking the tests to try and get into an astronaut program when Shaun... well... 

“Are you coming back yet?” Emelia asked after her mind got tired of spinning in circles over thoughts of Nate and Shaun. It helped if she stayed distracted. 

“I’m only five feet to your left, Em,” Hancock replied, and she let out a displeased grunt. She turned her focus back to the sky. 

“You couldn’t see the stars like this in Boston before,” she commented. “We used to make trips out to this camping site, miles and miles away from the city. Sit around a campfire until it got too cold outside, then go inside this little tiny do-nothing cabin... just a roof and four walls with a wooden shelf you could sleep on.” Her rambling was interrupted by the weight of something plopping into her lap. She looked down, more curious than alarmed. 

“...Hancock?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Did you just give me a toy alien?” 

“Yep.” 

She gripped it in a fist and waved it at him. “ _This_ isn’t condescending?” 

“I’m working with limited supplies here. It’s that, a pack of cigarettes--which you’d probably try to eat--or a teddy bear.” 

Emelia scowled as Hancock walked back to the fire and sat down. She glanced down at the toy... funny looking little thing. She squeezed it. It squeaked. She squeezed it again. 

“I should’ve given you the teddy bear.” She glared petulantly up at him, squeezing repeatedly, making the alien squeak and honk wildly. He sighed and pulled the pack of cigarettes back out of his pocket. She quickly got distracted watching that instead, though her hands still closed spasmodically on the alien toy, filling the empty shell of a house with slow, wanton squeaking. 

Hancock flipped the lid on the cigarette carton back, pulled one cigarette slightly up from the others with thumb and forefinger, then gripped it with his teeth and pulled it the rest of the way out. He closed the carton and tucked it back away into his pocket, pulling out a flip lighter at the same time. Emelia’s mind was gone entirely from the toy now, though she was still squeaking it absentmindedly. He flipped the lighter open with a snap of his wrist and then flicked it once, twice, before a flame was produced for the end of his cigarette. 

He took a long drag, but Emelia was quickly learning that one’s reflexes actually _were_ improved on jet as she reached out and snatched the flip lighter from his hand. 

“Hey!” Hancock exclaimed, and Emelia scooted backwards away from him on her ass, clutching her prize. 

“Something to do with my hands, right?” she said cattily, flicking it open and closed a few times before beginning to fiddle with the flint, turning it, but too slowly to produce a spark. 

“Something you can’t _burn yourself on_ , preferably,” Hancock said, leaning forwards to try and snatch it back, lit cigarette hanging loosely from his mouth. Emelia scooted further away. “Are you going to make me get up?” 

“Yes.” 

“Oh, you’re _lucky_ you’re cute,” Hancock chuckled, shifting up onto his knees. Emelia scooted further away, putting the fire between them. “You’re going to wear out the ass of your pants doing that,” he pointed out. She rebutted him excellently and maturely, by sticking out her tongue. 

“Hey, do you hear that?” 

“Oh, please, Hancock, I’m not stupid--” 

“No, seriously, listen.” 

Emelia paused, wondering if her squeaking hadn’t caught the attention of some of the less pleasant denizens of the Wasteland. Where there was one ghoul, there were _always_ more, after all. She heard something clatter behind her and spun around, only to see a... subway coin, glinting in the firelight. 

Then she felt Hancock’s hand close around the lighter in hers. 

“You little shit!” she exclaimed with a laugh, whipping her head back around to face him. She gripped the lighter tighter as he tried to pry it out of her fingers. “That’s not fair!” 

“I don’t remember ever promising to be fair, doll,” he replied, wiggling gloved fingers between her palm and the lighter. Laughing, she rolled backwards, letting herself go limp and using her body weight to drag against his grip. She heard a grunt of surprise from Hancock, and he fell forward, losing balance off of his knees. He caught himself before he collapsed on top of her, fortunately--she hadn’t really thought this all of the way through. One of his hands left hers to catch himself against the ground. There was a moment--probably not as long as it felt, thanks to the jet and all--where she was lying flat on the ground, and he was over her, legs tangled between hers, one hand by her shoulder. Her breath caught in her throat. Then his hat--probably knocked loose from the sudden jolt of falling and catching himself--flopped down onto her face. 

Startled, she loosened her grip on the lighter, and she felt him pry it out of her hands before grabbing his hat off of her face. She remained lying on the ground for a few moments longer, mind racing... which was quite a sensation on jet. That had felt really good. Why had that felt really good? Her mind skipped, lightning fast, through several disturbing possible answers before settling on one that was less terrifying, but sort of sad. 

That had been the closest physical contact she’d really _had_ since... well, for 200 years, she supposed. 

That bit of serious introspection didn’t last, however, as she was still _really_ high, and Hancock had just flopped over right next to her, sitting between her and the fire. He tucked his lighter back away into his pocket, and glanced over at her. “You alright down there? Didn’t hit your head, did you?” he asked. 

She stretched her arms upwards, hands clasping at nothingness as if she was trying to touch the stars. Maybe she was. “I...” she paused. “Still need something to do with my hands.” 

Hancock laughed, which made her relax somewhat. “You want your alien back?” 

“No,” she replied petulantly. “I want...” She paused, considering, then rolled over onto her side, scooting over until she was closer to the fire. She wound up sort of supporting her upper body on one arm, the elbow of which rested near one on Hancock’s legs. 

“Geez, what is it with you and fire?” he asked, slapping Emelia’s hand down as it reached out towards the burning wood. 

“It’s pretty,” she replied, the movement of his hand drawing her eyes away from the flickering of the fire. “Like a crowd all dancing and glowing. In slow motion.” 

“That’d be the jet,” Hancock informed her. 

“I like it.” She caught the cuff of his jacket and ran a thumb over the ruffles. He let her, so she shifted, resting her head down so that she could examine the cuff more comfortably. 

“Careful with the uniform,” he warned, chuckling slightly as she shifted to playing with one of the buttons on the cuff. The sound of his chuckle vibrated through her skull--it took her a moment to realize why. When she’d laid her head down, she’d laid it down on his leg. _Her head was laying in his lap._

She ricocheted up, horror at her lack of social grace overcoming even her drug-fueled stupor. Not very well, though--she smacked face-first right into both her hands and his, then thudded right back down onto his lap. 

Hancock began laughing, not the quiet chuckles from earlier, but loud, raucous laughter interspersed with gasps for air and half-hearted attempts to talk. “Pffffahahaha, are, ahahaha, oh man, are you okay?” he managed. 

“Ow,” she announced, not able to process much beyond that. “Did I break my nose?” 

“Hahaha, no, oh wow, hahaha, you just slammed right into your own hands, hahahaha--” 

“Yeah, yeah, laugh at the baby stoner,” she grumbled under her breath, but she grinned too. It _was_ pretty stupid. “Like you’ve never done anything dumb on drugs.” 

“Me? Half my life is doing dumb shit on drugs,” Hancock snorted. “Don’t know that I’ve ever run into my own hands, though.” 

“Well then, _clearly_ , I’m just better at being high than you,” Emelia replied as loftily as she could manage. The effect was somewhat ruined by her rubbing her sore nose. 

Hancock laughed. “Oh, yeah, sure, kid. You’ve got it figured out.” 

Embarrassment at being on Hancock’s lap forgotten, Emelia turned back towards the fire. She wasn’t quite sure when her hands found the hem of Hancock’s jacket and began fiddling with it. But she wasn’t surprised when she eventually did notice. God, she really _was_ fidgety on this stuff. Still, it wasn’t so bad. Her heart had stopped racing quite as powerfully as before, and while her mind was still barreling along at a thousand miles per hour, she found plenty of stimuli just watching the fire flicker--she could swear there were _patterns_ \--and fiddling with the ancient cloth of Hancock’s jacket. 

She was warm; she was comfortable. And maybe it was just the drugs, but she felt safer than she had in a long time. 

\---

Emelia woke up lying on a dirty mattress, her jacket laying over her like a blanket. Something that would have been alarming a few months (or a few hundred years) ago was commonplace now, so she came to slowly, blinking tired lids as she took in her surroundings. Ah, yes, the house she’d found last night. Good, that she’d found shelter that had lasted them through... the... night... 

Her peaceful expression fell into crestfallen as memories from the night before hit her in confusing waves. 

_“Can I try?”_ and everything that came after. The color drained from her face and she clasped a hand over her mouth in abject horror. _Oh God she had made a total ass of herself._

Her eyes fell onto Hancock, who was sitting by the flickering remains of the fire, sharpening his knife on a whetstone. The shit-eating grin on his face when her eyes met his told her he damn well remembered _everything._

“Oh God,” she said, pulling the jacket up over her head. 

“So, uh... beef jerky, huh?” he asked teasingly. 

She sat up like a bolt, face flaming red, the jacket falling into her lap. “I meant it in a good way!” 

“Uuuuh-huh.” 

“I like beef jerky!” she protested. “I’ve always loved beef jerky!” 

Hancock burst into laughter, leaning forward as the force of it shook his body. “Oh fuck, you should see your face!” 

Emelia grabbed the nearest object--the toy alien, fucking hell--and chucked it at his head, cheeks still flaming. It bounced off his hat harmlessly, squeaking forlornly. “Ass!” 

“You’ll get better control over yourself the more you do it,” he laughed. “If you’re interested in doing more, anyway.” He looked over, question plain on his face. 

Emelia paused, actually thinking about it. It had been a bizarre, wild trip, but... it had been fun, and despite the pain and fear at the very beginning, Hancock had kept her distracted and entertained. 

“...Yeah. Yeah, maybe. When we’re in safer places, like this.” 

Hancock let out a sigh of breath she hadn’t realized he was holding. “I’m glad you’re not havin’ morning after regrets. Jet is one hell of a trip for your first time. I never would have let you have it if I’d known--” 

Emelia frowned. “ _Let_ me?” 

Hancock raised his hands in surrender. “Fair enough. Though it was my jet, I’d like to point out. I’m just saying, wouldn’t have been my first choice.” 

Emelia shrugged. “It didn’t kill me.” 

“It was pretty funny to hear you babbling away like that,” Hancock admitted, chuckling. “I think you said more words in ten minutes then I heard you say in three days.” 

Emelia glared sourly, a flush rising to her cheeks again. “I didn’t realize you appreciated background noise so much, Hancock. Here, throw me the alien back and I’ll let you listen to it squeak all day.” 

Quick as a blink, Hancock grabbed the toy and chucked it over one of the half-ruined walls and out of the building. 

“Hey! That was mine!” 

“I’m not risking it.” 

“Asshole,” she grumbled under her breath. But she couldn’t help smiling a bit to herself. Somehow, it felt less awkward between the two of them now. Apparently all it had taken was getting insanely high and making an ass out of herself. Worth it. 

“Now, if you’re done being indignant, I believe it’s _your_ turn to cook breakfast.” 

Mostly worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Now I have officially published fan fiction in two fandoms. I'm so proud of myself. Little baby Semi is growing up. If you guys liked that, please leave comments and let me know! I might do more with them in the future (yes, including smut, if that's the sort of thing people want to see). Thanks for reading! ^_^


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